


Dirty Fingernails

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Erotica, Masturbation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-11
Updated: 2007-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: What on earth would Padma Patil see in Neville Longbottom





	Dirty Fingernails

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Another contribution to the Officially Unofficial Don Juan de Neville Fest.  
The prompt (Dirty) used was from the Scribblicious thread on the Checkmated forums.  


* * *

Padma had always been a fastidious person. The idea of being attracted to someone with dirty fingernails was absurd. But then again, so was the idea of finding Neville Longbottom attractive. Like most of the girls of her year, she never really got rid of the image of Neville as that chubby, absent-minded, rather stupid boy from first year. This ought to have been dispelled by the look of fierce determination on Neville’s face when practicing Stunning Spells in the D.A., and the glow of quiet pride when he had finally got it. Or, the rumors that circulated at the end of fifth year, that he’d faced down Bellatrix Lestrange with a broken nose and a stout heart.

But seeing him around plants during N.E.W.T, level Herbology was a revelation. He stood taller, causing his sloped shoulders to suddenly seem broad, his eyes would go flinty with concentration. The first time she noticed it, she nearly dropped the sneezewort she’d been carrying. And when she saw him kneeling in the dirt, his forearms flexed and his strength and confidence apparent in the ease with which he held back vines of a Venomous Tentacula, she nearly wet herself.

She wanted his focus on her—for the murmured encouragement he gave to an ailing Flutterby Bush to be murmured endearments or even dirty words in her ear. She wanted the callused fingers that grafted rare plans together so skillfully to venture between her legs—stroking her hot, wet flesh until she screamed. She wanted him to thrust his cock into her with the same force he thrust his hand into the center of a Snargaluff Stump. Sometimes, she wanted him so badly that she touched herself, picturing him perfectly, doing her best to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out his name.


End file.
